entwined
by Cerulean Musings
Summary: Tumblr prompt: Kiss on a falling tear. Melanie didn't mean to fall apart like this; she'd held on for so long, staved off the rush of emotions that built up over the course of the day but the moment she opened the door and spotted Stiles on her doorstep holding a still warm bag of McDonald's, the dam broke. And she broke.


_**entwined**_

She didn't mean to fall apart like this; she'd held on for so long, staved off the rush of emotions that built up over the course of the day but the moment she opened the door and spotted Stiles on her doorstep holding a still warm bag of McDonald's, the dam broke. And she broke.

But he caught her and all her jagged pieces and held them close to his chest. She buried her face into his neck, holding onto him with claw-like fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt to keep him in place. Keep him there where she knew he was safe and alive. Unlike others…

His arms enveloped her, one secure around her waist and one running parallel to her spine. His fingers dug into her hair, gently slipping through the strands until his hand rested at the nape of her neck, holding her in place. Holing her up.

"I-I had woken up to…I was going to call her like-like I always do every year and-and then…and then I _remembered_ —" Melanie sobbed, her words a stuttering muffle against his front. A fresh wave of tears fell down her cheeks. They dripped onto his shirt, soon causing a darkened spot to bloom like ripples on a lake.

"I know, Mels, I know," Stiles mumbled, his lips rubbing against her shoulder.

That was the best and worst part. He knew but…he _knew_. He knew the creeping dread, the sticky guilt, the crushing sadness, the suffocating numbness, and the drowning, needling, all-consuming pain. The pain that stung and pricked and prodded, begging for attention. The pain that throbbed deep within, constricting like a barbedwire entrapment just for her. Custom made.

His hold relaxed and tightened with her deep, heavy breaths. Like the push and pull of the tide. Her face, hot and stuffy, rubbed against the thick fabric of his shirt and it was comforting, in an odd way. At least this way she knew she could still feel after drifting through a cloud of nothing for days. And, being this close, she smelled his familiar scent of wet earth that seemed to be permanently stuck to his skin as of late. She wasn't surprised; running with wolves—quite literally—brought all of them out into the dead of night more often than not lately.

Right now, she'd rather face down a raging Alpha Wolf than have to face this.

"Sorry—I snotted all over you," Melanie commented the minute she pulled away, grimacing at the stain on his shirt. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hands and sniffed.

"It's okay. Not the worst thing that's landed on my shirt. Least this one dries better."

She pulled a face, her mind spanning in a billion different directions on what that could mean because it was simply uttered by _Stiles_ of all people, and then let out a soft giggle.

"Ah, see there it is!" Stiles said, pointing at her face.

She blinked. "There what is?"

"Your smile. Y'know, it really lights up a room. Things are a bit off-kilter when you're not smiling, I gotta say. Almost thought I came to the wrong place because _my_ Mel knows how to lay it on."

Melanie sighed. "Well, considering the circumstances I'm not sure a smile's appropriate."

Stiles scoffed. "Anyone who tells you the 'right way to grieve'"—he made obnoxious finger quotes—"need to get bent. Seriously. Because telling people what to do is appropriate? Right. If you wanna smile, go right ahead. _Fuck_ 'em."

She supposed his comment was more for his benefit than hers; he wasn't exactly known for his tact. But she appreciated that about him. And a half smile pulled on her lips all the same.

"I just…I don't get it," she stated, her smile easing off her face as the seconds ticked by.

"Get what?"

"How you do it? How you can just…keep going."

Stiles's lips formed a thin line and he rubbed the back of his neck ."Don't really have a choice." He sighed. "That's the part that sucks. The alternative isn't any better."

"So…what, we're just supposed to dodge the pity and the tiptoeing for the rest of our lives?" She rubbed at her reddened nose and shook her head. "Fuckin' _sucks._ It just..sucks."

"Yeah, but…life sucks. Death sucks. It all sucks."

"Then what's the point?"

"Dunno. Guess…there's stuff in between that's worth it. Don't you think?"

Her head tilted to the side, taking Stiles in. He shifted beneath her gaze, tongue swiping out against his bottom lip and eyes shifting as if he were looking for an out. Swallowing the lump in her throat she managed to ask, "Since when are you the optimistic one?"

To which he replied with a simple, "Since you needed me to be."

A laugh of surprise shot out of her, one she didn't have time to keep inside. Tears welled up in her eyes once more and she fought to keep them from falling. Stiles reached out an arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her into his side. Melanie hugged him around his waist and lifted her head, ready to comment on just how soft he was, when the brush of his lips against her cheek made her still.

He stiffened beneath her grip, concluding that he had realized as well that he'd missed and aimed a little higher than she assumed he'd planned on. She closed her eyes; the touch of his lips beneath her eye stained like an invisible tattoo. And her stomach swooped in a way she hadn't felt in a long time, in a way that she had once, not long ago, attributed to just being within Erica's presence.

She cleared her throat and stepped away from him because…that was silly. He was just being _nice_ …in his weird, Stiles way. And that's all it was. The silence grew louder, making itself known as it stretched between them. Melanie cleared her throat, reached up, and fixed the creased collar on Stiles' plaid shirt.

"That was unusually smooth of you, Stilinski," she commented as a warm blush appeared on her cheeks. She sniffed and brushed the smeared tear off her cheek and smiled at him.

He shrugged and rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish grin. "Yeah, well, even Robin hits the mark sometimes."

She hummed. "Eh, I'd say you were a _little_ off. If you really wanted to hit the mark, you would have aimed further south." At his bewildered expression, she simply beamed, took his hand, grabbed the abandoned McDonald's bag off the ground, and pulled him over to the couch. "C'mon. Food's getting cold."

They plopped uncereonimously down onto her couch and dug into the food; her head may still be stuffy and her eyes may still sting—("You could salt all the fries in the world with how much you cried," Stiles ribbed)—but her heart was full and her stomach was growling to join it.

Between taking bites of burgers and seeing who could cram the most chicken nuggets into their mouths at once, they eased into talking about Stiles's mother and Erica and all the good things about them and all the memories that became unearthed. As the saying goes, misery loves company and Melanie couldn't think of better company to get through Erica's birthday.

For when she picked up an apple pie and found herself sobbing all over again simply because apple pies were Erica's favorite, Melanie didn't have to worry about Stiles thinking she was overreacting. And, thus, she felt comfortable enough to ask as he tried to offer her a burger wrapper for a makeshift tissue, "Does it ever stop hurting?"

He let out a humorless laugh; his tongue poked into his mole-covered cheek causing it to bulge. "I dunno. Once I have an answer, I'll let you know."

Melanie nodded. At least he was honest; she appreciated that.


End file.
